


unstoppable

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kingsman 2 Spoilers, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Repressed Emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 01:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but when he pushes open a heavy oak door, Merlin pauses, foot just edging over the threshold, the rest of his body lingering in the shadows.Near the kegs of whiskey Tequila had tossed Merlin into only a few weeks ago, is Eggsy, knees drawn up to his chest.





	unstoppable

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sia's "Unstoppable." Listen to it and think of Eggsy after V-Day.

"Got it," Eggsy says triumphantly, plunking himself beside Merlin. His bespoke suit is a bit battered from the battle with Charlie and his deadly mechanical arm, but his glasses are perfectly perched on his nose, undamaged. Strands of hair have escaped from the careful styling, and when Eggsy shifts in his seat, there's a barely discernable wince of pain. Statesman's medical had probed him, finding nothing but bruised ribs and shoulders, to their mutual relief. With Poppy and her cohorts, one agent down was a serious detriment. "Tracker placed, ready to go when you are."

“Well done,” Merlin says, meaning it sincerely. For a junior agent, Eggsy is adept and skilled—the last Kingsman field operative—and that realization sends a chill cutting through his chest. The table of knights is gone, obliterated in the deadly missiles that made the news last night. He and Eggsy had been heading across the water as speculations began rolling in about domestic or international terrorism, praying that what they found at the end of an old whiskey bottle held both answers and security.

Agent Tequila—Merlin still cannot believe these codenames—had, after a misunderstanding, paved the way for their relations with the rest of the Statesman. Everyone had been welcoming in their own way, but were understandably preoccupied with the matter at hand. With his and Eggsy’s arrival, Statesman had gained both intelligence and extra hands.

Eggsy had been eager enough to be swept along for the ride, burying himself into work as he did after V-Day, and Merlin’s relieved to see the young man smiling like he hadn’t had in days. It’s going to be a while for himself, but to have Eggsy in higher spirits helps Merlin feel as if things may look up at last.

“So, are we going to hack into this or what?” Eggsy asks.

“Of course,” Merlin replies, thinking that he should soon teach Eggsy the basics of what he knows. After what happened to Kingsman, his illusions of relative safety have been obliterated. As sturdy and well-hidden as Statesman’s headquarters are, Merlin does not believe they’ll remain that way for long. If something happened to him, he’d at least want to impart some of his knowledge onto Eggsy.

Hacking is not quite like it is in the movies, but Statesman technology is faster than any sort of governmental secret intelligence tools. It’s a bit different from what he’s used to, but within moments, Merlin is in, cloaking himself from surveillance, slipping in like a cat through a sliver of an open window.

Eggsy’s leaning forward now as Merlin gains access to one of the cameras, hoping to map out the whole place before charging in. “Right,” he begins, “let’s see what we have." 

The image flickers to life, and Merlin stops dead.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, hands trembling on the keys. “Harry?” 

Harry does not answer him, of course, but Merlin drinks it all in: Harry, hair shorn and clad in drab grey clothes, staring into what looks like a mirror, shaving. The foam covers the left side of his chin and neck, as well as the tips of his right fingers. And most startlingly, his left eye is covered by a plain black eye patch, and Merlin swallows, remembering how bright red blood splattered on the glasses as the view snapped backwards onto the bright blue Kentucky sun.

His mind goes in a thousand different directions, not hearing or seeing Eggsy beside him. The cell is padded, so Harry must be a danger to himself and others, but why would they give him a razor? Why would they give him what looks like a large magnifying glass and tools to work with? Is Harry working with Poppy? If so, how much does he know? Does he even remember who he is? He has to; there’s that mad butterfly collection, sketches drawn on the walls and prototypes lying still on the table. If Merlin could read the writing—

Suddenly, Eggsy stands up, sending his chair skidding with a protesting creak and skid, and Merlin, only by years of conditioning, manages not to flinch. Eggsy’s chest is heaving up and down, slow with quick jumps, as if his heart is restarting. Trembling fists are clenched tightly at his sides, jaw quivering, teeth clenched.

And without a word, Eggsy leaves the room, each step harsher and faster than the last, eyes bright with fierceness. 

The door slams shut behind him. 

On the screen, Harry finishes, tilting his head to look at his reflection. He does not smile or smooth his hair back vainly, as Merlin used to dryly comment on, but only turns away, trudging back to the table and picking up one of the butterflies.

After a moment’s consideration, Merlin and presses the button on the desk. “Ginger,” he requests, “there is a matter that needs to be brought to Statesman’s attention.”

Within minutes, Ginger arrives, ever present tablet in hand, and Merlin shows her what he has done. She nods approvingly, sitting down beside him and squinting at the screen through her glasses. “May I?” she asks, before simply placing her fingers on the keyboard.

Merlin nods, then pushes his chair back. “If you excuse me.”

As he steps out into the hallway, Merlin turns on his glasses, bringing up his position in the elaborate underground tunnels of Statesman. Silently, he then activates Eggsy’s tracker in the glasses and follows his agent, intending to bring Eggsy back and help himself and Ginger.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find, but when he pushes open a heavy oak door, Merlin pauses, foot just edging over the threshold, the rest of his body lingering in the shadows.

Near the kegs of whiskey Tequila had tossed Merlin into only a few weeks ago, is Eggsy, knees drawn up to his chest. His face is hidden by shadows and cupped hands, but his shoulders are trembling, and small sounds emit from him, the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs.

Merlin remains hesitant, unsure if he should leave Eggsy alone or offer some sort of comfort. Eggsy never allowed such emotions to show the long months after V-Day, and although he had an idea of why that was, Kingsman’s state of disarray had been essential to rebuild along with the rest of the world. There had been little time for long conversations, and Eggsy seemed disinclined to interact overly much with anyone other than Roxy or his family. And once things had begun to settle, Eggsy had seemed like his old self again—joking and laughing—albeit with a heaviness that Merlin associated with the weight of being a Kingsman.

Roxy would know what to do. She and Eggsy always had a sort of unspoken understanding between them, with Roxy only having to put a hand on Eggsy's shoulder or Eggsy to nod at her for an entire conversation to take place. If Merlin couldn’t get Eggsy to go to his doctor’s appointments or eat a proper meal the nutritionists prepared for him, Roxy could persuade him. She’d even gotten Eggsy to take walks out on the grounds, sometimes with their dogs, and he’d only really seen Eggsy brighten up around his fellow agent. They were hardly separated, nearly always paired together on missions—Lancelot and Galahad, the new knights.

But Roxy—their newest Lancelot, one of their most promising candidates in a long time—is gone. It had been quick, he’d told himself, but he couldn’t be too sure. Missiles were deadly in their destruction, but hardly ever very neat. At night, he would see the flares, bright against the dark sky, beneath his eyelids.

The shop. The mansion. The agents’ houses. All gone in one stroke. Years and years of history, burning to rubble in London, the only home he’d known for over half of his life. He’d talked to Harry about going back to his childhood home in Scotland when he was put out to pasture, but truly couldn’t imagine a life without a steady roar of traffic, streets choking with bustling crowds, or building after building with hardly a free space—let alone the familiar air of his workstation with its screens and keyboard or the dining room on the second floor of the tailor shop.

America is different. So different. Could he live here? Could Eggsy?

But now is not the time to wonder about this. Instead, Merlin steps forward, his shoes making purposefully louder sounds as to not startle the young man huddled on the floor.

"Eggsy," he finally says, so softly that Eggsy can choose to ignore it if he so wishes. 

But he doesn't. 

When Eggsy looks up, he looks young, terrifyingly so. Only twenty-four years, and Eggsy's been through things no average adult should. That is the nature of Kingsman. 

To Merlin's disconcertion, Eggsy's eyes are wet, already red around the edges. And he knows that Eggsy is already berating himself for these tears he's allowed to fall, these emotions not fit for a gentleman spy—or perhaps this mindset had been cultivated long before Kingsman. Toxic masculinity doesn’t just breed in Kingsman. 

Contrary to what the rest of the agents thought, Merlin doesn't know everything, and only hints of what he'd seen before in files and through agents’ glasses had helped clue into what happened to Eggsy. Harry had been steadfastly close-lipped about it, and Eggsy himself never brought it up, not even to Roxy during his recruitment.

“Eggsy,” he repeats again, then kneels down in front of Eggsy so that he's not looking above him, so they can be eye-to-eye. “I know that was shocking to see.” 

“He was— _is_ —your friend,” Eggsy says, then clenches down on his jaw harder before saying, “I got no right—“ 

“You have the right to mourn him,” Merlin interrupts. “If you've allowed yourself to.” 

Eggsy looks stricken, then indignant, snapping, “Of course I mourned! Why would you think I didn't? He was—” Immediately, he cuts himself off again, and ranges of emotion—shame, grief, longing—waver in his eyes before extinguishing into flinty hardness. “My mentor,” Eggsy finishes weakly. 

“Yes,” Merlin says. But not _just_. He won’t allow himself to push it or say it out loud. Eggsy himself knows, even if he hasn’t allowed it have risen to the surface. It all fits together so subtly, and Merlin’s ashamed, ashamed of not seeing this sooner, ashamed of thinking that Eggsy would be simply comforted with _Harry would have been proud_ after his victory over Valentine and Gazelle _._

Roxy must have known. She had to have known.

But he will never know.

 _I’ve lost everything now_ , Eggsy had said dully, as he’d clutched the neck of the whiskey bottle, eyes red and swollen. He’d dutifully passed it back into Merlin’s outstretched hand, breath warm and thick with the scent of a distillery. _Everything._

 _As have I,_ Merlin had thought.  _But we're all that's left._

Words have never been his strong suit, but Merlin tries, placing a hand on Eggsy's shoulder, squeezing. The suit is not the same one Harry had commissioned, but it's the same navy blue and silver pinstripes, the same striped tie. And with that, he realizes that the parted hair, the glasses, the accent, the gentleman spy persona, and the obstinate need to carry the umbrella with him had the presence of Harry in each deliberate choice. It always had.

“Harry _was_ proud of you,” he says simply. “And I'm confident that when we see him again, he will tell you the same thing.”

Eggsy's eyes widen. “We’re going to look for him?” The hope in his voice is unmistakable, and he wipes his eyes, looking at Merlin like a lost child before accepting an outstretched hand.

“We will find him,” Merlin promises. That's what he can do for both his oldest friend and his charge. He'll make this right again. “We’ll bring him back.”


End file.
